


chronic

by brainyisalwayssexy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, But first, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Suffering, bc that's pretty much my brand by this point, but also lighter moments, discussion of chronic pain, sad tings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainyisalwayssexy/pseuds/brainyisalwayssexy
Summary: Pain is a touchstone of Remus’ life. Part of the whole werewolf deal, you know.OR: Remus' attempts at understanding love, told through the lens of chronic pain.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Comments: 25
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a video series on chronic pain that I watched sometime back.
> 
> Some minor tweaks to canon, but nothing too egregious. You’ll see them as you read.

The first time Remus remembers experiencing pain -- true, searing, _agonizing_ pain -- was The Attack.

He’d been just four years old.

One moment, sleeping soundly in his childhood bedroom, without so much as a care in the world. The next, too many sensations to count: teeth breaking into skin, sharp claws slashing at his face and body.

His rescue happened at just the right moment, but it was too late -- the damage had already been done.

It was a miracle he didn’t die, really. If not from the injuries, then certainly from the fright of it all.

And it was as he laid there, sobbing from pain and pooled in his own blood, that he wished that the werewolf had finished him off. Put him out of his goddamn misery.

* * *

His first full moon transformation leaves him aching and feverish for days. 

His Muggle mother, Hope, tends to his bedside, looking more tired and drawn with each hour. His father, Lyall, is scarcely able to hide the guilt in his eyes.

Pain is the color _red_ , he thinks. _Red_.

Like blood, yes, but also like the color of his mother’s faded lipstick. Her lips pressed into a thin line of worry and fear, when she thinks he can’t see it.

* * *

The pain kills his mother, eventually. Unlike his condition, hers is not physical, but of a different variety.

Gone too soon, strangers will say. The inevitable price of having a Dark Creature for offspring. The mental stress was simply too much to bear.

His father doesn’t correct them. And that’s all that young Remus needs to see.

* * *

School brings the first spot of sunshine into his life.

He finds unlikely companions in James, Sirius, and Peter. 

Boys who are _willing_ to transform along with him, once a month. Whose company makes his monthly transformations tolerable. _Fun_ , even.

And in the mornings after, even amidst his usual aches and sores, he finds himself immensely grateful for this thing between them.

This _friendship_ , that holds them all together. Delicate, precarious, yet resilient all the same.

He can only hope it will last.

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Friendship, it turns out, is a fickle thing.

  
  
  
  


Which is how he ends up alone, once more.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

He spends a few years drifting. Oscillating between numbing the pain and losing himself to it, entirely.

Both feel like necessary retribution. A price to pay for his transgressions, real and imagined.

* * *

Eventually, he gets a job at Hogwarts. His first semblance of normalcy in a long, _long_ time.

It’s not perfect. Snape snipes at him every chance he gets, only too eager to wreak his vengeance on him. Not to mention, there’s something wholly undignified about the way he has to transform himself in his office, keep the creature curled up beneath the desk until the morning comes.

Still, it’s something. Something that makes the constant pain a bit more worth it.

But eventually, that’s ripped away, too.

* * *

He gets one of his best friends back, after all is said and done.

Sirius Black, exonerated -- though not _free_ \-- at long last.

But he's not the same, after it all. 

Pain has that transformative effect, on a person. It’s something Remus knows all too well.

* * *

Physical pain dictates his life, now. In more ways than one.

At thirty five, he doesn’t have the vigor to battle it, anymore. The suffering is near-constant, even if his magical abilities help keep it at bay.

* * *

_She’s_ the first time he doesn’t notice the constant ache.

_Nymphadora_. Nymphadora Tonks.

Who, he learns quickly, prefers to be known by her surname, only.

* * *

Tonks is the youngest official member of the Order, and one of its finest. Something she manages to establish on her missions with him, early on.

Sirius, so usually gloomy and miserable, brightens enormously whenever she's around. So, perhaps by happy accident or by design or both, she quickly becomes a mainstay at Grimmauld Place. Willingly hangs out with the two bachelors of the house, playing cards and drinking firewhiskey into the wee hours of the night.

* * *

To be clear -- the pain associated with his condition doesn’t disappear, of course. But he notices it _far_ less when he’s around her.

And though he'd be hard-pressed to admit it, he finds himself eagerly looking forward to her visits. Has to ignore the way his heart does a backflip _every single time_ he sees her, all pink hair and eager smiles.

* * *

It’s between long missions and late nights with her that he realizes he’s suddenly become afflicted with a completely _different_ kind of ache.

* * *

Tonks stays over one night, after a particularly painful transformation.

Sirius, Remus’ usual post-Moon caretaker, is ill. She willingly steps in and takes care of them both.

He feels terrible that she has to see him like this, bleeding and weak and practically half-naked, but she shushes him. Tells him he’s being ludicrous at best and delusional at worst.

"Don’t get modest on me now, " she murmurs adamantly, and then, a whisper, almost a quiet plea --

" _Please_ , Remus. Let me take care of you."

He’s heard those words before. From people he’s loved and lost, both. 

Remus should stop her, right there. But he _doesn’t_.

Against his own better judgement, against the dangerous familiarity of her words -- he lets her.

* * *

She applies Essence of Dittany on his wounds.

For all her usual clumsiness, she’s surprisingly careful with him. Slow, gentle, yet _incredibly_ precise. 

* * *

“Get in the bath,” she tells him, a few hours later. “The soak should help ease any remaining pain.”

She’s filled the tub to the brim with warm water and some mysterious, sweet-smelling soap. In the background, an old jazz record hums along. 

Hell, she’s even charmed the bubbles, so that they rotate through a kaleidoscope of colors. Kind of like how her hair is wont to do, at times.

It is, in all honesty, probably the nicest thing he’s _ever_ seen.

Yet another indulgence he doesn’t deserve. But he’s grateful for it, all the same.

She waits for him to get settled, to obscure himself beneath the thick layer of bubbles before she comes in. Sits on a stool by the side of the tub, so she’s just above head height, for him.

She’s so _proud_ of herself, grinning at him openly. And it’s as he’s watching her revel in her success that he’s struck by something so hard he’d almost forgotten the sensation -- 

He thinks about what he _wants_. Loses himself to it, completely.

The vision dances in his head, vivid, tantalizing: tangling a hand in her hair, pulling her into the water. Kissing her something soft, gentle. Then, decidedly _less_ so.

(For a split second, he _swears_ she sees it, too.)

A flare of pain in his joints slashes through his thoughts. A gasp escapes his mouth before he can stop it.

And just like that, the moment is over.

Maybe he imagines it, but he thinks she knows it, too. Gives him a somber little smile.

They sit in silence and watch the enchanted bubbles pop instead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you as always to @your-girl-is-lovely for beta reading/sanity checking this for me! I know it’s been a while since I updated, so if you need the refresher, go read Chapter 1 first! May help it flow better, too.
> 
> I’ve really enjoyed writing this piece, it’s been cathartic in so many ways. 
> 
> But at last, it’s finally come to an end. Enjoy!

The pain is relatively manageable, now, but Remus knows it’ll get worse as the years go on.

Will likely kill him, one day. A potential side effect of all chronic conditions.

But the only thing worse than knowing how it all ends is knowing that it could affect her, too, in the process.

Dying would be bad enough. But breeding resentment just might be worse.

So any thoughts he has about acting on this _something_ between them — if there’s anything there at all — are immediately cast away.

* * *

In hindsight, he should have never taken a mission so close to the full moon. 

He was already in an irritable mood, pain searing through his joints, and just about everything set him on edge.

In said mood, Remus blurted out something rash, about Sirius. He _knew_ it was a mistake, the minute the words left his mouth. 

But he’d said it, anyways.

He doesn't think he'd _ever_ be able to forget the look on her face, now.

Angry, then hurt. Then downright _furious_.

“If you weren’t so busy feeling _sorry_ for yourself,” she snaps in retaliation, “you’d know _exactly_ who I’d fallen for!” 

Just like that, his jaw drops. In _spite_ of himself.

“ _I_ … I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he manages, somehow.

His brain is working at a million miles an hour, because _surely, she doesn’t mean..._

Her face says otherwise. She looks absolutely _devastated_ , then.

“Yes, you _do_ ,” and then, words so low they’re practically a whisper —

“It’s _you_ , Remus.”

For a moment, his brain shuts down. Stops functioning entirely.

The sensation is followed by a feeling of happiness he’s _never_ known before. 

_She’d fallen for him._

Not Sirius. Not some young, handsome wizard in the Auror office.

_Him._

And he doesn’t know what kind of Gryffindor courage possesses him in that moment, but suddenly he pulls her in close and then he’s kissing her like he’s wanted to for so damn _long_. 

She tenses for a moment from surprise before melting into his arms, and then she meets him just as eagerly.

Remus loses himself to the thrill of it all: of kissing her deeper, drawing little noises out of her throat. Of _knowing_ , at last, that she feels just as he does… 

It's too good to be true.

So, naturally, it all comes crashing down.

He’s not sure what triggers it (he never is), but he’s suddenly overcome by a sharp spasm of pain, one that burns his whole body.

It passes after a few moments. But it’s enough.

It’s a reminder, loud and clear, of _exactly_ why he’s wrong for her.

Which is why he breaks away, murmuring a hasty apology:

"Dora, I'm so sorry… I _shouldn’t_ have…"

"Remus, _stop_." she whispers, and she looks terrified, suddenly. "You didn’t do anything I didn’t want."

And there it is again. _Want_.

She _shouldn't_ want him. Not with the life of pain he promises them both.

(He has no right to deceive her into thinking otherwise.)

So he pushes her away. As gently as he can.

(Tries not to think about the memory of her lips against his.)

"I _can’t_ do this to you." he whispers. "I’m so _very_ sorry.”

* * *

He avoids her, after that. Volunteers for the most dangerous solo missions, leaving for weeks at a time.

Does his best to ignore the looks of hurt, her attempts to talk him down. Talk to him at all, really.

She doesn't deserve this. But it’s better for the both of them, this way.

* * *

The next time he sees her is after Sirius’ death.

He tells her he's leaving. For much, _much_ longer, this time.

* * *

Joining the werewolf pack was a mistake.

It's a reminder of every last thing he hates about himself. Constant, relentless, _awful._

Some days are better than others. But a war _is_ brewing, and the situation grows bleaker by the day.

Remus fears he might be breaking apart. 

That he might wake up one day, and no longer know how to put all the pieces back together.

* * *

He watches the dawn after a particularly painful transformation.

Dark gray skies fading into light pink. The color of her hair.

He thinks of love, briefly. How little of it he understands.

* * *

It’s been four months without her. It feels like a lifetime.

The days all seem the same. Make their steady progress, one after the next.

He tries to form some semblance of routine. For a time, it works.

But no matter how much he tries to keep thoughts of her at bay during the day, she finds her way into his mind at night, the possibilities of _what was_ and _what could have been_ haunting his aching, sleepless dreams.

* * *

The only other person who frequents his thoughts is his mother, Hope.

Remus replays the moments in his mind, every night: watching her die from the worry and stress caused by his transformations. A slow, _excruciating_ death, the kind he wouldn’t even wish on his worst enemies.

He’d been too young, then. Didn’t know _what_ to do except hold her close.

She'd had no _choice_ , in becoming the mother of a dark creature. Destiny had afflicted her with that curse, a burden to bear along with him.

For that, she gave up her _life_.

It’s not a price he wants anyone to pay, ever again. 

Not for a wretch like him.

* * *

The holidays offer the first brief moment of respite. They’re all allowed to leave, but must return to the camp within days. Must carefully mask the scent of anyone they visit to avoid retribution of the worst sort.

Remus tries, foolishly, to write her a letter. It seems less cruel than seeing her in person, somehow, though he’s not sure who he’s trying to spare here. 

He sits there, in his tiny, cramped study, and _thinks_. Thinks how best to put his thoughts into words, freeze the pain in his chest into the solid block of ice he so _desperately_ needs it to be. 

It comes out of nowhere, of course.

A single memory of her smile — the very first time she’d hugged him to her chest after a mission, the delicate scent of her perfume lodging into the back of his mind, lingering on his cheek — and the pretense shatters at once.

(He can’t — he can’t — he _can’t_.)

And it’s like he’s bleeding all over again, fresh wounds knit with the sort of aching _longing_ he’s tried so hard to push down. 

His hands shake, and he groans with frustration at the spilled ink beneath his fingers. 

Remus crumples into himself, shoulders hunched as he tries to catch his breath. 

To gather his thoughts once more, though really, he’s overcome by just _one —_

 _You’re all I want_ , he mutters into the parchment. 

_(And yet, you’re all I can’t have.)_

* * *

Tonks finds him before he leaves again. He should have expected no less.

Words stumble into each other, form a conversation they’ve had before. Always, to no avail.

(This time is no different, of course.)

“Remus, I don’t _care_ ,” she whispers, voice breaking into a sob. “I don’t care _what_ it is you think, I’ve told you a _million_ times…”

She breaks down, and then there’s nothing he can do but hold her close as she weeps in his arms. 

He draws her close even as he prays for the strength to _let her go_. 

For his heart to give her up, at long last. Set them both free from this misery they’ve brought unto themselves. Or rather, that _he’s_ brought unto her.

And yet, he _can’t_. _Can’t_ let go of her.

So they just stand on his doorstep, wrapped in a tentative, painful embrace, the harsh morning light filtering through the icy winter air.

* * *

They smell her on him, when he’s back.

He’d been reckless, careless, by allowing her to get so _close_. 

For that transgression alone, he pays a hefty price.

They beat him within an inch of his life. Closer, even.

“Remember what you _are_ , Lupin,” the pack leader sneers when he’s finally done with him. Adds in a few threats about what he’d to do _that bitch_ if he got his hands on her, words too terrible to repeat.

He’s too feeble, too badly battered to protest. He’d deserved it, certainly, and no matter how much his blood had ignited with anger, fighting back would have blown his cover. 

Pain is, perhaps, inevitable. But he _chooses_ to suffer. It’s the least he can do.

And it’s as he wipes the blood from his mouth and hobbles to his feet that he admits to himself, softly, softly, that the memory of _her_ had been the one to flash behind his eyelids.

If he’d been about to die, she was _still_ the happiest moment of his life.

He wonders how long he'd be able to hold onto that secret. Wonders if this is one he’ll take to his grave.

* * *

For a while after that, his dreams go dark.

As if, by doing so, he might be able to protect her, somehow.

* * *

Hope comes into his dreams, again. A flashback to a moment they’d had together, a few months before her death. One he'd all but forgotten.

It started as a usual post-moon caretaking. She’d been tending to his wounds, and that's when he’d noticed the color _all around._

_Red, red, red._ On the bandages, on her mouth, on her thin, trembling fingers. 

And the words had spilled out before he could make them stop —

“ _Why do you do this_?”

(How could she bear to be around so much _red_?)

His mother had answered, without a moment’s hesitation —

“Because I _love_ you, darling.” 

Somehow, that wasn't enough.

“ _But…_ but aren’t you _scared_?” he’d whispered, wondering, already, if he’d stepped too far, had somehow crossed a line.

Instead, her smile went all the way up to her eyes. Something beautiful, rare.

“Oh, _yes_. Every single day. But you know what?”

“What?”

She'd knelt down by his bed, then, so she could meet his eyes.

“Loving someone is the _bravest_ thing you can do. Do you understand?” 

He'd nodded numbly, not fully understanding. Filing her words away for another time, another place.

Hope leaned down and kissed his forehead, before leaning down and whispering her next words —

“So promise me. Promise me you’ll be _brave_ , Remus.”

" _I will_ ," he'd whispered back, and he'd _known_ , somehow, that this conversation would be one of their last.

(True to her word and his — she’d been brave until the very end.)

  
  


And when his eyes finally flutter open, there's something wet on his cheek. 

(God, he hasn't done that in so _very_ long.)

He closes his eyes, again. Tries to hold onto the sound of her voice.

But he's alone once more, her memory already lost underneath the dark morning mist.

* * *

He's called to Hogwarts that very night, alongside the Order.

The ensuing battle — if one could even call it that — is chaos. 

But in the end, none of it matters.

Dumbledore is dead. His undercover mission is over.

(It's _all_ over.)

* * *

They all gather in the hospital wing to check on Bill, and _that's_ when he finally sees her.

His heart twists at the sight.

She's somehow grown even _more_ ragged and thin over the last few months. A mere shadow of her former self. His fault, of course.

And yet. Despite everything, his feelings remain the same.

He’s so damn _selfish_.

Their world just fell apart, and all he can think about is _her._

Somehow, he tears his eyes away and resigns himself to silence, once more.

* * *

Silence is not what he gets in return.

Remus sees it a moment before it happens, on her face. 

Flashes of a kind of bravery he can only ever _hope_ to have.

And then the truth is tumbling out, naked and raw and every bit as unrelenting as it's always been.

Though he murmurs half-heartedly that now is not the time, he knows it's _anything_ but. 

Knows that time has finally caught up with him. 

That he needs to stop running and _decide_. 

* * *

She leaves the hospital wing a few minutes later. Doesn't so much as look back at him.

He follows her quietly, down a dark, vacant hallway.

"Dora," he calls out, hoping she might listen.

She ignores him. He quickens his pace slightly.

"Dora, _please —_ " 

" _What_ , Remus?" she snaps, finally turning around. "What's _possibly_ left to say?"

She swallows, as if to re-center herself, and he notices tears brimming at the corners of her eyes.

"I _love_ you,” she whispers, voice trembling. “And yet, you won't have it."

He steps closer, then. Registers faintly the way she shifts towards him, if only in the slightest. 

And he knows, in that moment, what he _has_ to do.

Tries to summon up the courage for his next words — 

“What good is love? If all it brings is pain?”

He lets the questions hang for a moment.

“Because that’s _all_ I can offer you, Dora. All I have _ever_ caused you.”

She shakes her head in protest, cheeks starting to go pale, but he continues on, because he _has_ to know — 

“Why would you _choose_ pain? Why would you _choose_ a life like this? When it could never end in anything _but_ hurt?”

Tonks finds her voice, at last. 

Starts her words off uncharacteristically slow, measured.

“Maybe you’re right,” she admits. “Maybe loving you _would_ hurt.”

"But —" she continues, “losing you has hurt so much _more_.”

She steps closer to him, and he can see the solid conviction in her gaze.

“So, to answer your original question — ‘ _what good is love, if all it brings is pain_?’

The answer, Remus, is that sometimes, you find someone who’s _worth_ the pain.”

  
  


And for a moment, it’s like his brain stops functioning. 

He’s stunned in place.

By words he never thought _anyone_ could say. 

Words he’d _never_ imagine, not in his _wildest_ dreams.

The fist clenched tight around his heart loosens a little.

He’s staring, now, and he knows his face must be absolutely _unreadable_ , because she suddenly touches her hair self-consciously, thin fingers running through the dull brown strands.

“I _know_ it looks bad,” she murmurs. “But the truth is, I’d suffer all this and more. You’re all I want. All I’ve _ever_ wanted.”

She gently takes one of his hands in her own, idly tracing out an old scar. Like she’s inscribing a promise, of some sort, before she meets his eyes again.

“So give me your love _and_ your pain. I’ll take them both.”

Her words shatter the last of his reservations, and suddenly he feels like every suppressed emotion of the last year — the ache, the fear, and the love, _yes_ , the love he’d tried so _desperately_ to forget — are all flooding his system, all at once.

She wants him. _All_ of him. 

He can’t string together words, can’t form full sentences. Not after this. 

So he takes the hand she’d been tracing with and kisses it. Slow, gentle.

There’s a keen sense of _finality_ to it all. He can’t take this back. He _won’t_.

(But then again, he’s been hers all along, hasn’t he?)

“I’ll give you mine only if you give me yours,” he whispers against her skin.

She gives him a smile, then, a real one. It’s the first time he’s seen it in months, and she’s _never_ looked more beautiful

“Deal,” she whispers, and she’s so, _so_ close to him, now…

So he cradles her face with one shaking hand, tips her head to get a better angle, and pushes his mouth against hers.

Kisses her, something quiet and fierce. Like she’s the only thing that can soothe the ache.

* * *

Later — much, _much_ later, with his hand on her spine and his mouth on her throat — he finds that in the act of coming together, there’s as much chaos as there is beauty.

It’s all love, it’s all pain, as he pulls a broken gasp from her lips, as she digs her nails in his back and tugs him closer, closer, _closer_.

The two are inextricable. Impossible to separate.

But despite it all — she’s gentle with him. Takes care of all his broken pieces.

And in the end, that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, leave a comment! Music to listen to after reading (that I read while writing, if you’re in the mood for it: 
> 
> :( (sad face) by Baharie 
> 
> Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie


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